


the queen, heartsickness, a garden, and hope

by mermaidism



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Family, Homesickness, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidism/pseuds/mermaidism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Arwen in Gondor, growing strong</p>
            </blockquote>





	the queen, heartsickness, a garden, and hope

Arwen brings seeds with her when she arrives to be wed. They come from Imladris and from Lorien. She plants them cautiously, hopefully, waits impatiently for them to take root. Even as she tries to take root herself.

She’s so used to trees and green things and growing life and sometimes it’s very hard for her in this huge city of stone. There are days when Arwen sits beside the white tree and she can’t stop the tears as she looks away to the land of her birth. Being queen is strange to her at first, and the people always stop and stare as she passes through the city. _There she goes,_ they whisper even as they bow their heads. _The Elvish queen. Beautiful and unnatural._ Her husband's people think her highborn and otherworldly. She smiles at them as she passes, but they cannot see.

They do not look her in the eye.

 

She learns the paths of the city, and travels them alone or on her husband's arm. The cloth merchants learn her favorite colors and grin stupidly with pride when they catch sight of her dressed in a gown or cloak beautifully made from a bolt that they sold to her. Arwen likes to come to market day with her husband. He knows so many of his people, even common merchants and tradesmen, and he shakes their hands and calls them by name. He makes her laugh in the marketplace as he tries to juggle oranges. The people see and whisper behind hands. She does not know what they are saying, but she hopes they like to see her happy. For there is always a sadness in her heart that only her husband the king can make her forget. Many midnights find the tall, beautiful queen alone in her garden. Only the moonlight reveals the tears on her face. She does not like her husband to see her cry. She does not want him to think she regrets her choice.

She regrets nothing. But it is in these dark hours that she remembers she will never see her family again. It is here that the white stones feel hard and cold and hateful beneath her feet.

 

Then comes the summer when the seeds Arwen has planted burst into life. The white city is washed in fragrance. Silver trees with golden leaves, climbing vines of pure-white roses, a carpet of _elanor_ and baby's-breath. The petals fall from the sky when the wind rushes through those enchanted gardens. The Gondorian girls say it's good luck to find one in your hair. _It will make you beautiful. Like the Queen._ Children come to play there, climbing the trees that grew from Lorien seedlings with reckless abandon. At first, they sneak in, past the two citadel guards that stand before the gate leading to the seat of Minas Tirith. Those trees with their slender trunks and smooth branches so perfect for climbing call to them. They take turn standing guard, whistling loudly when a speedy escape is needed. Then, one day, a handful of barefoot, dirty-faced city children shimmy up their favorite climbing tree and find the black-haired Queen of Gondor perched among the leaves. She too is barefoot, and the long velvet train of her gown is tucked into her belt. She smiles at them, grey eyes full of light and mischief, and this time, they see. The children are always welcome after that day. Their laughter echoes through the city. They never fall. Some say this is because the children of Gondor are strong and brave and sure-footed. But the old women know better. _Our Queen has blessed them._

And all of a sudden, the babies start to come and Arwen is busy following toddling little bodies or keeping Eldarion out from under the feet of the citadel guards, or singing Elven lullabies; her arms full of hot, sleepy, tiny girls with her own grey eyes and her husband’s ears. It is only after they fall asleep with their faces pressed against her breast that she sighs and allows her heart to wander to the land that lies across the sea, to the place where all her kin have passed away. The stars come out as she lays this smallest child in the swan-white cradle and retires to the warmth of her husband’s arms.

This is when she thinks, _not all her kin_.


End file.
